


flickering gold

by kitafox (lucasfletcher)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Second Chances, Weddings, furu rlly said atskt endgame so there, side Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25240741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucasfletcher/pseuds/kitafox
Summary: How to make origami; a guide by Miya Atsumu.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 14
Kudos: 61
Collections: Atsukita Week





	flickering gold

**Author's Note:**

> written for atskt week day 2 : home/kinda/ + second chances/kinda/
> 
> atsumu is a strong one dont worry

  
  


_this is how you fold a thousand cranes_

“‘Samu, I swear to god I’m going to fuckin’ burn all of this.” 

Atsumu’s eyes are halfway closed. The paper crinkles underneath his fingers, gold catching in the lamplight. It’s too quiet already. The only signs the place has been filled just moments before are the cups and takeout containers left on the coffee table.

“If you do, I’ll make sure your legs never step back on the court again, coz they will be both broken,” Osamu’s voice is sluggish. Atsumu pauses to watch him for a moment; he goes through the motions swiftly, practiced fingers folding the paper again and again even if his eyes have already lost the focus they held in the afternoon. 

Akaashi’s hands were more delicate when he was still sitting there across Osamu. However, if you asked Atsumu which of the scattered birds were made by whom, he wouldn’t be able to pick them out. One for each year of the crane’s life. 

“This is so crazy. Who in the ever-loving heck thinks, I’m going to get married so I have to make _thousand_ fuckin’ origami birds for it to be the perfect wedding? You could’ve chosen literally anything else.” 

The water rushes down the pipes from the apartment upstairs, accompanying the hums of the fridge and the ticking clock. Osamu finally stops and thumbs the edges of the paper. 

“The cranes mate for life, ya know. If you dedicate your time to somethin’, then the result reflects the commitment and patience it took. Keiji 'n I thought it was pretty fitting.”

The words sound familiar somehow. Osamu smiles, his eyes wandering towards the closed bedroom door. “Spending time with our friends and family while doing this, and then the labor of love—”

“Ew, I’m gonna stop you right there,” Atsumu makes a face. “What are ya so sappy for, high school Osamu would’ve lost his shit.”

He stares down at the crooked golden wings in his palm. The crane can die for all he cares. 

  
  


_a sheet of origami paper, 5.9x5.9”, square; actually, the process of folding is not so simple_

They’re kissing. They’ve been kissing in bed for hours, ever since Atsumu came to Shinsuke’s house intending to get a proper send-off. At first, it was just a need, like scratching an itch, one that wouldn’t go away until Atsumu sucked on his lips; later, though, Shinsuke’s been trying to pull away to say something and Atsumu knows. Knows that whatever it is he need to push those words back with the force of his lips, breath, tongue. 

Atsumu has one hand gripping a sharp hipbone, the other stroking a soft cheek, both of Shinsuke’s are tangled in his hair. His lips are almost numb already and he knows Shinsuke’s must be too, they aren’t stopping, though, at least not until Atsumu presses a palm to Shinsuke’s chest and the rhythm of his heart makes him pause. 

He pulls away. Watches Shinsuke’s eyes open, watches them shift all over Atsumu’s face, slowly and steadily. He strokes at Atsumu’s hair. 

“Atsumu. You should go.” 

“No, you go.” 

Shinsuke rubs the skin between Atsumu’s eyebrows with his thumb. Brushes over his pouted, puffy lips; his heart is still beating too fast. 

“Go, we’ve already had this conversation. Ya don’t need this, not right now.” 

Atsumu can feel something ugly clawing at his throat. He knows it’s a battle he started losing from the moment he first took Shinsuke’s hand in his behind the school gym, when Shinsuke wrapped him in his arms, two bodies and hearts colliding; actually maybe just the one. 

He’s heard it a thousand times: you’re not patient enough, Atsumu, you should be more diligent with things other than volleyball, Atsumu. Still. 

“Lemme know when you’re done deciding what I need. I guess even you can feel scared; I’m fuckin’ petrified, Shinsuke. I feel like this is what _you_ need right now, though. I will wait.” 

Atsumu takes one of Shinsuke’s hands and presses it to his own chest this time, palm first. “All this time it’s been _you don’t need memories_ , but I’m gonna keep them, right here.”

They say you will forget soon, but Atsumu never forgot the way Shinsuke’s silhouette looked sitting at the end of the bed or how his small nose and mouth wrinkled when he tried to stop the tears from spilling. 

  
He’s never felt more like a kid than when he asked Shinsuke to hold him one last time, _just this once_. There he was, bare kneed on the damp ground, cupping his hands around a desperate promise; still feeling the brush of lips on his forehead.

  
  


_fold the paper in half to form a triangle; actually, it’s better to use a step-by-step guide with pictures (16 steps)_

It’s windy on the hilltop. The Miya’s family house has the perfect vantage point, all around just green, green - the rice paddies are terracing in the distance, but there are enough trees around to give it a sense of privacy. Despite the sharp wind nipping at Atsumu’s bare ankles, the sun is making everything stand out. Vividly green. 

They couldn’t have a traditional ceremony even if they wanted, but looking at them right now, in this moment it doesn’t matter. Atsumu hasn’t been home in a while. He watches Osamu and Akaashi exchange vows in his childhood backyard with a strange sense of detachment. Aran has flashcards in his hands but looks seconds from throwing them away as he tries to give the ceremony proper order. 

Atsumu has a hard time paying attention to the words and he stubbornly refuses to look to his left. 

He sees Akaashi wipe the corner of his eye with a knuckle, then reach a hand to cup Osamu’s cheek tenderly and thumb his tears away. That just makes Osamu stutter and stop talking, closing his eyes as more pour out, prompting laughter. 

Atsumu has the rings in one pocket, the handkerchief in the other. He pats around for it blindly and forces it into Osamu’s hand - the one that isn’t gripping Akaashi’s for dear life. 

“Ew, that’s just like you, you big crybaby,” he murmurs, though he is not quite aware that he does. Atsumu’s ears are sort of ringing. He thinks he should feel like something’s changing, but he already knows what it’s like to kneel with bare skin on the ground. Nothing’s been changing for a while. 

They’re throwing rice because of course they are. Osamu picks Akaashi up by the waist when they get to the end of the aisle between the arranged chairs and they are both beaming, something too intimate in their eyes causing Atsumu to avert his gaze. 

There’s a little girl, most likely Akaashi’s niece, that’s taking the grains by fistfuls and hurling them at the ground near their feet violently. 

“She could lead me into a battle,” Suna leans in to whisper into Atsumu’s ear, making him snort. He doesn’t know Atsumu’s been gearing up ever since Osamu sat him down and said _I’m gonna do it. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life._

Atsumu grabs a handful and throws it up and away from him, closing his eyes. He opens them in a second, white against green, floating down, heavy little petals and he follows them, his gaze settling right at a section of seats he’s been trying to avoid. 

The dark red of Kita-san’s suit looks to be the shade of their old high school sports jackets. His head is turned down, looking at his hand cupped around rice grains; he lets them slip in between his fingers. Uses the same hand to wave a soft greeting in Atsumu’s direction. 

Atsumu clenches his jaw and when he looks back again from where Osamu is picking rice from Akaashi’s hair, Kita-san is still watching him. 

_when you’re done, gently pull the wings apart where they’re folded; be careful as not to make them rip_

Atsumu turns on the charm to spin the aunties around on the dance floor. The venue is not big, so the heat gets trapped inside and he can feel the sweat at his hairline. He has already left his suit jacket at the back of his chair and is now considering folding the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows. 

When the song changes, a slow beat taking over, Atsumu excuses himself to go back to his seat. The wine that’s been sitting there all evening has already lost some of its crispness, but Atsumu still takes a careful sip, makes a face back at Suna, replies absentmindedly to his mother’s question. 

Kita-san hasn’t moved much from where he’s being talked at by Akagi-san, only to the bar and back, stopping to speak with Osamu. Atsumu only knows this because Suna is sitting at their table and he won’t stop wiggling his eyebrows at Atsumu, drawing his gaze in their direction. 

His whole avoiding act has worked out just fine except for the way his eyes seem can’t stop looking at the burgundy of Kita-san's suit, the dim lights catching at his cufflinks. When he watched the first dance, his mouth was stretched into a small, almost private, smile.

Their eyes met once; just a gentle kind of caress. Atsumu’s heart jumped right into his throat and he quickly pretended to be very interested in the wall behind Kita-san’s head, feeling the gaze on his face for a beat longer. 

Atsumu thumbs at the wing of a crane sitting beside his dessert plate. They’re hanging in garlands, scattered across the tables - all thousand of them.

“I’m gonna get more wine,” he announces. 

“Oh, Atsumu, honey, can ya please go ask Osamu if someone’s ready to drive aunt Mayako home?” 

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he mutters, but he’s already striding across the dance floor with purpose, resolutely not looking anywhere but at the bar. He sidesteps a spinning couple, tips his glass back to get the last of the wine, and then, almost there, Kita-san moves to block his way - completely skipping the last few steps and going straight into ripping the wings clean off. 

The darkened gold of the origami in the dim lights is practically the same shade as Kita-san’s eyes. 

Atsumu feels grounded in the present for the first time. The familiarity of Kita-san’s face from this close is so jarring Atsumu forgets the half released lines he’s spent hours thinking of, they seem kind of pointless as he finally permits himself to look, almost too eagerly. At his face, the lean line of his neck down to where the first two buttons of his dress shirt are opened. 

He’s just as handsome, if not more, the sun has left its mark on skin; grown.

Atsumu doesn’t know who’s been the braver one out of the two of them, but it doesn’t matter.

“Remember back then, when I…” 

Kita-san’s words are getting lost in the chatter, the music around them. That’s why Atsumu inclines his head towards the door, leaves his glass on a table, and trusts Kita-san will be right behind him.

As soon as the door closes behind them, the sounds fade into the background. It’s even darker in the hallway and Kita-san is looking into the general direction of Atsumu’s shoulder, hands in loose fists by his sides. 

  
Atsumu crosses his hands in front of him, protecting, waits. He would rather Kita-san doesn’t say anything if he can’t meet him halfway; if there aren’t going to be trees growing from the damp ground beneath Kita-san’s diligent hands.

“Granny used ta say I was so brave, but you knew. That, uh, I wasn’t… I’ve been missin’ you.” Kita-san pauses and Atsumu watches his chest lift with every inhale. “You haven’t been home in a long time.”

“I didn’t have a reason to.”

“Atsumu, I don’t regret what we had and what we made out of it. These few years apart… I believe I’ve lived the way I did, just so that I could tell you that I’m sure of something right now.”

“Remember back then,” Atsumu echoes his earlier words, “I told you I would wait. Please, for once, can you just say what you want and not what you think _I_ want?”

Finally, the serenity of Kita-san’s face breaks. 

“It’s you. Even if I’m not sure of a hundred other things, I want to get _this_ right. Us.”

Atsumu can feel the blood rushing in his ears with the force of his heartbeat. He steps closer. Kita-san looks like he’s hesitating with something, pressing his lips together, and turning his head to the side. 

“Atsumu, do you still… did you?” 

Kita-san puts his palm at Atsumu’s chest. “Did you keep ‘em here?”

“Kita-san.”

Kita-san moves his hand, pressing the pads of his fingers to Atsumu’s lips instead. “Did you already forget my name?”

°

Atsumu’s whole body shivers with it when he says: “Shinsuke.”

He steps even closer, uncrosses his arms from his chest, and lets the hope, the feeling he’s been waiting on, unfurl from there all the way to his throat; tips Shinsuke’s chin up with his thumb and forefinger.

“Shinsuke, do you know how to fold a paper crane?”

And Shinsuke shakes his head, reaches both hands towards him, says. “Teach me.” 

Their lips meet already open mouth on open mouth, breath first. Atsumu crowds Shinsuke into the wall, covering him, but trying to make himself smaller in the arms wrapping around his shoulders at the same time. 

Atsumu’s tongue pressing wine-covered into Shinsuke’s mouth. They kiss not like it’s the first time, not like it’s the last. Somewhere in between, a soft simmering familiarity, Shinsuke’s small nose pressing into Atsumu’s cheek as he tries to push even closer. 

“I’m here,” he leans back enough just to whisper, presses the words into Shinsuke’s lips, and then tilts his head, kisses him harder. 

His hands move underneath Shinsuke’s suit jacket, onto his lower back where the heat of him is the strongest. Pulling him in, he bends his knees and then lifts up so Shinsuke is in his arms, legs wrapping around his waist. 

One hand sliding down the back of a thigh. 

Shinsuke makes a small noise but does not break the movement of their hungry mouths, tugging at his hair instead. 

Atsumu half-opens his eyes to watch, to remind himself of the way Shinsuke’s eyelashes brush the delicate skin underneath his eyes, fluttering slowly, of the furrow between his eyebrows.

He breathes sharply through his nose, closes his eyes again, imagines if someone were to come in, would they look like they’ve already become one, him and Shinsuke. 

Then he pulls away to rest his head gently beneath Shinsuke’s chin. Presses his lips to the hollow between his collarbones, not moving, just breathing softly. 

When Shinsuke grabs him by the jaw to bring him back up, Atsumu allows his face to break into a grin that pulls at the corners of his eyes. Shinsuke is already smiling down at him, a gentle curve to his mouth. 

And in Atsumu’s fist, a golden paper crane. 

_(this is how you come back home)_

After, it’s just a few of them, the closest ones, sitting on a half circle of sofas; conversations and slow music just a background hum to Atsumu.

It sounds distant, Aran gently teasing the newlyweds - they’re leaning into each other, the lines are blurred where Osamu’s body starts and Akaashi’s ends, their heads resting gently on one another’s; Atsumu watches, gaze folding in and out of focus. 

He’s aware Shinsuke is saying something, but he’s busy staring at the way his hand is laying palm up on the top of his thigh - the fingers curled inwards like the petals of a peony. 

Atsumu wants to slip his hand there. He’s trailing his fingers down the tendons and veins of Shinsuke’s wrist just as Osamu says: “No, actually, he helped us with the folding a lot, even though he threatened to burn them at least three times a day.” 

Atsumu’s head snaps back up. Osamu is looking at him, happiness crinkled in the corners of his eyes. And Shinsuke’s fingers, finally closing over his.

Atsumu wants to hold him, wants to be held, he wants. 

“I wanna dance with you.”

He’s bracing himself for the rejection, a plea, and a full-force pout ready on his lips, but there’s the warmth of Shinsuke’s hand tugging him to his feet instead. 

“It’s not your wedding, but enjoy, I guess,” Osamu calls after them. Shinsuke is still smiling, though, eyes flickering and that’s all that matters to Atsumu. 

“Good thing I’ve made half of those fuckin’ birds, then.”

Atsumu jogs over to the abandoned sound system. When he turns back after twisting the volume up, Shinsuke is waiting for him, there in the middle of the dance floor. He meets him like it’s the only thing he knows how to do, naturally - just like the way your breathing evens out when you start falling asleep at night. 

He curls his fingers into Shinsuke’s suit jacket on the top of his shoulder, one of Shinsuke’s hands spreading across his back and the other intertwining with Atsumu’s. 

While Atsumu is contemplating whether to pull him even closer somehow, Shinsuke has apparently already made a decision and is taking a step forward, leading him. Atsumu’s eyes widen.

“Wait, I don’t actually know how to do this.”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to dance?” 

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t mean like this.” 

Atsumu stumbles over his own feet, or maybe Shinsuke’s, he doesn’t know, but then Shinsuke is dipping him down, leaning over him, one strong hand supporting his back. Atsumu’s holds his breath. 

“Like this?” Shinsuke asks, too close. He looks like he’s going to burst out laughing any minute. 

Atsumu clutches at his shoulder and tenses his core, trying to pull himself up. “Don’t drop me, hey,” he narrows his eyes, “are you laughing at me?” 

Shinsuke presses his lips together, pulling him back up and letting Atsumu find his footing again.

“I would never. Let's do it your way, then.” 

He is about to argue, not to be defeated, but Shinsuke stops all of his protests by leaning his head on Atsumu’s shoulder and intertwining their hands. Shinsuke’s right, Atsumu’s left. Instead of stretching them out, he cradles them between their chests, safely tucked in the middle. 

_Did you keep them here?_ Shinsuke had asked and Atsumu answered with his entire body; it’s enough, for now. He’s going to tell him and show him, after the rawness of the moment has passed. When it comes to Shinsuke, he thinks, the storage space is inexhaustible. 

Spinning them in a slow circle, Atsumu bends his head, nudges his nose against Shinsuke’s, breath spilling across his lips and pouts them in a kiss; hopes someone takes a picture. He closes his eyes, trusting in the closeness, the holding, being held. 

°

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, spinning and spinning, as if it were them hanging from the ceiling — following the rhythm of a thousand birds.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> this got so sappy..but y'all know what happens after that.....
> 
> head empty no more thoughts just the miyas and the kitas  
> 
> 
> [twit](https://twitter.com/smexysamu)


End file.
